


Needs More Than Seven Minutes

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Feels, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Lydia and Erica plot, Scott turns eighteen and gets awesome cake, and Stiles and Derek totally don't want to kiss each other. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs More Than Seven Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> based on a fabulous [gifset](http://hoechlined.tumblr.com/post/40718709745/sterek-au-the-pack-is-bored-one-evening-and) from tumblr

An hour and thirty nine minutes. He's been waiting an hour and thirty nine minutes.

 _Forty_  when he next glances at his watch.

“Derek.”

Stiles swings his legs under the porch railing, flipping the pages of his comic before abandoning it in the pile on the floor behind him. He can wait. Derek can have his little tantrum about not wanting to be sociable but Stiles is going to win in the end. They both know it.

Derek bitches and pouts and does that stupid thing with his eyebrows that is not sexy, or appealing  _at all_. But ultimately, Stiles will get his way, and Derek will come with him.

“ _Dereeeeeek_.”

He glances at his nails, checks his phone again, picks at the wood beneath his fingers. It needs painting again; the porch didn’t fare well over the winter and the railing is looking a little,  _decrepit_.

It still looks better than it did before they refurbished the house in the first place but still, maybe he could convince Derek to go with some color this time.  Perhaps a nice bright yellow to match his sunny deposition.

“You have to realise, I’m not going anywhere,” he says easily. He knows Derek can hear him. He came out half an hour ago and threw Stiles over his shoulder to carry him to the jeep. Told him to leave his property and that he wasn’t allowed to ever come back.

Even Stiles with his lack of werewolf powers had known that was a big fat  _lie_.

There’s the sound of a thud in the house and he grins to himself, pictures Derek jumping from the landing to the foyer like the dumb show off that he is and then the door swings open.

“Go away.”

“Nope.”

“Stiles.”

“It’s Scott’s  _birthday_ , dude. You literally have  _no_  excuse for why you can’t come. You can’t even say you don’t like him anymore.”

Derek glances at the array of comics, the two power drinks he’s emptied whilst waiting and then at the cushion Stiles is sitting on.

“Did you come prepared?”

“I knew you’d be a bitch about this,” Stiles shrugs. “What can I say? I’m psychic. Well, that or I just know how much you  _enjoy_  a good social gathering.”

Derek kicks at dirt on the porch, glaring moodily at his feet. “I already gave him a present; I don’t need to come to the stupid party too.”

Stiles stands and stretches, missing Derek’s sweeping glance at his torso and then bends to grab his stuff.

“Look, Scott’s  _eighteen_ , man. It’s a big deal but more to the point, the party is at  _my_  house. Which is incredible and awesome in itself because for once in my life, I’m guaranteed not to get kicked out or mocked or have anything other than a successful evening. I might even get laid.”

Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat and Stiles rolls his eyes figuring it’s disdain.

“Whatever,  _some_  people think I’m hot. So not the point I’m trying to make.”

“When are you ever  _not_  trying to make a point of your own  _awesome_   _hotness_ ,” Derek asks, scrunching his nose up at the words.

“Alright, don’t look so damn disgusted, bastard.” He zips his bag up and points a finger at Derek. “You’re coming to the party, we’re going to stop on the way and you’re gonna go buy me liquor—”

“Liquor to be drunk at the house of the Sheriff? By minors?” Derek snorts. “So not the way to sell this to me, Stiles.”

“Fine! Turn up, stay ten minutes, give Scott a motherfucking pat on the back and say congrats Scott, you’re officially a man—without smirking like you’re doing right now I see that Derek Hale, don’t you think I don’t see that—and then you can leave to return to your kingdom of darkness and aloneness. Even though I personally think it’s bad for you to avoid people so much.”

“I don’t avoid people. I came to that damn movie night at Lydia’s last week.”

“Under  _duress_ , I’d still like to know what she threatened you with to be honest,” he adds thoughtfully.

Derek visibly pales and then grabs his arm. “We’ll go, ten minutes, you don’t leave me alone with anybody that isn’t pack and you promise not to let anyone drink in front of me. I don’t need your dad arresting me,  _again_.”

“Dude, he totally wouldn’t. He’s got a soft spot for you, you know.”

Derek pauses from where they’re striding across the grass and frowns. “He does?”

“Yeah,” Stiles keeps walking towards the jeep, Derek trailing after him looking sort of shell shocked. “I think he’s convinced  _you’re_  the reason I got decent grades this year, something about you being a  _grounding_  presence like you’re the fucking Buddah or something, I don’t know. Totally wrong considering our lives but I’m not gonna convince him otherwise if it means he likes you. He doesn’t shut up about you sometimes, ‘specially now you have an actual  _job_.”

Derek looks smug and Stiles rolls his eyes, swinging open the passenger door so it hits him in the stomach. Derek glares at him. “You’d think, for someone who’s just gotten their way, you’d be a little more graceful about it.”

“Dude, I see you all the time, I don’t care if you come or not, it’s Scott who wants you there.”

There’s a silence and Stiles glances at Derek to see him glaring out of the window.

“Oh my  _god_ , Derek I didn’t mean it like that, quit being a drama queen.”

“Just drive the damn car, Stiles.”

Derek actively sulks the whole way to Stiles’. Stiles suspects the only reason he speaks when they arrive is to remind him he’s not allowed to leave Derek’s side.

“You afraid all the terrifying high school kids might steal your lunch money?”

Derek cuffs him over the back of the head just as Lydia opens the front door.

“Good, you got him here, he wasn’t too much trouble was he?”

“I’m right here, you know,” Derek snaps.

Lydia smiles somewhat fondly at him, almost like she wants to reach out and ruffle his hair. Stiles is surprised to discover he does not want that to happen.

Purely because Derek would then rip Lydia’s face off, nothing to do with Lydia touching Derek. That, he’s totally cool with. Hundred per cent.

Icy cool.

Like Ice Man.

“Come on, Goose,” he shoves at Derek’s back to break off the weird staring match he and Lydia have going on and pushes him into the house. “You can put up streamers.”

It’s not that he  _minds_  Derek staring at Lydia, it’s just, Derek’s better helping  _him_  with bunting.

Stiles doesn’t suddenly have the urge to sing  _You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling_  to Derek at all. He hates musicals. And aviator sunglasses. And people who wear them.

Derek shoves a box of streamers at him and raises his eyebrows.

Oh yeah, decorating.

“Thank you, wind beneath my wings,” he says loftily. Mixed referencing aside it’s worth it just for the look Derek gives him as he scowls and dumps half the contents of the box on his head.

*

Half an hour later and Lydia’s pulling them apart from where they’re wrestling over bunting.

Stiles is almost certain Derek was letting him win on purpose but it doesn’t stop him from crowing when he manages to twist up and sit on Derek’s chest.

Lydia pulls him off looking fearsome. “Enough with the pseudo fighting as an excuse to feel each other up,” she hisses. “People will be arriving soon and your house isn’t exactly fit to be seen yet.”

Stiles can feel his face burning as he splutters excuses Lydia waves her hands at and he vaults up the stairs to grab the banner he and Isaac made for Scott.

Derek’s still sitting on the floor looking dazed when Stiles drags it down the stairs a few seconds later.

“Yo, help?”

Derek rolls to a stand and Stiles averts his eyes. Just because Derek’s ass is right there, doesn’t mean he’s allowed to look at it.

Screw it.

It’s a good ass. It should be admired.

Lydia shoves a pair of scissors at him and smiles sweetly when he starts, tearing his eyes away to look at her. “Need a hand?”

“No, uh, thanks.”

“I wasn’t offering to help you with the  _banner_.”

“Then,” he blanches. “Oh, shit, Lyds look I love you, I’ll always totally love you like I love you know, Allison or Erica when she’s not trying to beat me up it’s just, I don’t really think we’d work well together like that? So, you know, thanks but—”

Lydia scoffs. “I wasn’t hitting on you with a terrible innuendo either, Stiles. Honestly, between the pair of you I have no idea how you’re both still breathing. It’s like you’re both doing it on purpose,” then she’s disappearing into the kitchen muttering about boys and how useless they are.

The door slams shut but Derek’s ears go pink and Stiles wants to ask what she’s saying but the front door bursts open and distracts him.

“Thirty minute warning! They’re leaving the movies now.” Erica waves three bags around. “Where’s the good stuff going?”

Stiles waves a hand at his room. “Put the wolfsbane stuff upstairs, everything else can go in the living room.”

“Wolfsbane?” Derek sighs and hits his head against the bannister. “Stiles—”

“No one said  _you_  had to drink it, grumpy face.”

“I detest you,” Derek says crossly.

“I know,” Stiles says pleasantly. “It’s honestly kept me going all this time, your deep, undying loathing for me.”

“Sweet  _jesus_ , Lydia was right,” Erica complains from the living room.

“I know, right?” Lydia yells from the kitchen.

Stiles blinks, lost, turns to ask Derek what the hell they’re talking about only to find empty space behind him.

Stupid werewolves thinking they’re all clever with their silent moving.

Stiles will show them.

He’s not sure how, but he totally will ok. He will find a way to out sleuth them.

*

Scott’s face sort of looks like it’s about to crack in half with his smile when he shows up.

They don’t yell surprise because werewolves are generally not ok with you jumping out at them.

Which seems unfair when Stiles thinks about it.

But they do yell once he’s seen them and started  _crying with happiness_.  Derek must have decided to pretend he’s someone who has a mellow disposition for ten seconds because he lets Scott barrel into his chest and  _hug_  him.

Stiles shoves a bottle of something at his best friend, ignoring Derek’s pained sigh and waves Scott in the direction of the cake he and Isaac baked (Lion King theme), lots of red and yellow icing ended up all over Stiles’ favourite shirt. Derek had stalked about the kitchen without actually helping, taking things like  _cheese_  into the living room only to return five minutes later and get juice. Then remark on icing in Stiles’ hair and fluffing at it with his hands.

He was generally a nuisance and is  _so_  not helping the next time Isaac and Stiles bake.

Which will be for Allison’s birthday, (Magic Mike themed). Stiles is kind of looking forward to making that one. Maybe he could get Derek to like, pose so they could make it as realistic as possible.

He’s totally lost in daydreams about Derek as a stripper that he misses several minutes of the party.

He’ll never get back the time Erica did shots with Jackson and then punched him in the face when he suggested body shots.

He’s pretty sure the only way it can be made up to him is if Derek  _actually_  strips.

So  _not_  happening if the way Derek is glowering at him right now is any indication of Stiles’ luck in the whole Derek getting naked department.

“Stiles,” Danny snaps his fingers in Stiles’ face and he jerks back.

“Dude! Hey, what’s up.”

“I said where’s your cake knife? I’m designated driver tonight so I figured sugar rush is something, right?”

Stiles grins at him and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Good thinking, my man, to the kitchen!”

*

He should never,  _ever_  have left the living room.

When he returns it’s to Jackson leaning forward and kissing Scott on the cheek. Scott’s face is photograph worthy—Erica captures it and then crows with everyone else.

Jackson sits back looking disgruntled and Lydia kisses his cheek, smoothing a hand across his frown until it disappears.

“We’re so proud of you, Jackson.”

“Shut up,” he mutters crossly. “You better not have enjoyed that, McCall.”

Scott laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard and Stiles is curious to know just how much wolfsbane Erica’s been adding to the birthday boy’s drinks.

“Alright, alright, my turn,” Erica says looking excessively pleased. She spins a bottle set up on the table and Stiles groans out loud.

“You guys are  _seriously_  playing spin the bottle? Don’t you have enough excuses to touch each other already? You spar  _every_  day.”

“I already said that and they ignored me,” Derek mutters crossly from where he’s sitting in the corner.

Stiles joins him and pats him on the leg. “Don’t worry; they still listen to you about the important things Mr Special Alpha.”

Derek stares down at his hand and then looks up at him, mouth a thin line. Stiles slowly removes his hand. Derek nods and passes Stiles a drink. It’s orange juice. Stiles shoves said glass back at him and goes to pick up a half-finished Corona. Derek nudges it from reach and holds the glass of juice in front of his face until he takes it with a huff.

“Wow, you guys are hitting new depths with the silent conversation,” Danny says with a grin. He inclines his head at Derek. “’Sup Miguel.”

Derek groans and scrubs a hand across his face. “It’s Derek, you  _know_  it’s Derek.”

“Yeah,” Danny says grinning and taking a bite of cake. “But it’s so much more fun to call you  _Miguel_.”

“I know, I mean, what kind of name is Derek anyway?" Stiles asks enthusiastically, just to see Derek glower at him. "Miguel is an  _awesome_  name.”

A  _stripper_  name. Totally a stripper name. Mmm, Derek stripping.

He totally owes it to humankind to make that cake. To have Derek be naked on a cake forever.

Cake and Derek. Mmmmm.

Stiles shakes his head and returns to the conversation. “Have you noticed that when you say something that really annoys him, he gets this tick in his neck right—” he goes to prod Derek in the neck and Derek catches his fingers.

“ _Don’t_.”

“Fine, crosspatch.”

Stiles shares a conspiratorial smile with Danny and then glances back at the game just in time to see Isaac reach across the table and plant a kiss on the top of Boyd’s head.

Boyd rolls his eyes as everyone awws and flaps his hands at them easily. “Alright, alright, spin it again, get some real action going in here.”

They spin the bottle a couple of times and everyone starts exchanging more serious kisses. Stiles watches lazily.

As a whole they’re a good looking bunch but he meant what he said to Lydia earlier. He doesn’t want to kiss Lydia. He doesn’t want to kiss any of them.

Derek shifts beside him and Stiles sighs mentally. Ok, he wants to kiss one of them but yeah, like they’re going to go  _there_.

Lydia and Allison kiss and Jackson asks them to take their shirts off. Lydia fingers the cake knife and raises an eyebrow at him. Jackson keeps his suggestions to himself from then onwards.

When the bottle rolls to a stop in front of Isaac, Danny lurches off the sofa and straddles his lap.

Erica screeches when Isaac grabs at Danny’s hips and kisses him back enthusiastically and holds out a hand to Allison, who hands over twenty bucks.

“I  _told_  you so.”

“I thought he was into Scott,” Allison mumbles.

“What?!” Scott whips round to face her and falls off the sofa.

Allison shrugs. “I didn’t care, I just thought he  _liked_  you, liked you.”

“No,” Isaac pulls away from Danny for a split second to grin at her. “He’s not my type.”

“I’m not?” Scott looks disappointed and Allison pats his shoulder consolingly.

“ _I’m_  everyone’s type,” Jackson says smugly.

Derek snorts. “You actually go around saying things like that and  _mean_  them?”

“I can’t believe you sound surprised. Like you didn’t know, dude,  _everyone_  knows. Jackson is  _everyone’s_  type,” Stiles shakes his head at Derek. “I thought you were ‘all knowing’, man. This is earth shattering to me.”

“Shut up,” Derek huffs. “I can’t believe you don’t give him shit when he says things like that.”

“Hey! I  _am_ ,” Jackson says determinedly.

Derek continues to shake his head and Jackson clambers off the sofa looking at Derek intently. Derek’s up like a shot, yanking Stiles with him.

“Woah, hey, you can’t use me as a  _shield!_ ”

“He’s not kissing me,” Derek says fiercely, hands tightening in Stiles’ shirt.

“Come on, Derek, I’ll prove it,” Jackson whines. "I'm everyone's type."

“No! I’m not  _kissing_  you, Jackson!” Derek sounds a little bit panicked as Jackson advances on them and Stiles would laugh if he weren’t  _in the way_. “No kissing, I’m not playing. I’m not kissing you, or Scott, or  _any_  of my betas.”

Stiles twists to look at him incredulously over his shoulder. “Have we transferred to some alternative universe where you’re a chicken shit and Jackson would have no problem with going through me to—”

“Stilinski, shut up,” Jackson groans before grabbing his shoulders, lurching forward, eyes closed and before Stiles can pray for death, Derek’s pushing Jackson right back into the couch and depositing Stiles on the second couch.

“ _No_.” Derek sits back down beside him and waits until Jackson rolls his eyes in concession, taking a sip from his drink and looking mutinous.

Erica and Lydia are both watching from over their drinks and smirking. Stiles lifts his hands at them. “What?!”

“Nothing,” Erica sing songs before spinning the bottle again and kissing Allison’s hand when it points at them both.

“That was the sweetest thing I’ve seen all day, and I watched Derek sulk in the car earlier because I was  _mean_  to him,” Stiles says grinning. “I mean really, it was  _precious_.”

Derek snaps the drink stirrer he’s been chewing on and scrunches it up with one hand. He drops it to the floor, mangled and then smiles at Stiles, all teeth.

Stiles does  _not_  shiver.

“Let’s up the stakes,” Lydia says suddenly, eyes narrowed as she watches them.

“Ooooh  _let’s_ ,” Erica chimes in. “ _Everyone_  has to play.”

“Yes,” Lydia shoots a look at Derek and tilts her head to one side. “ _Everyone_.”

“I’m  _not_  playing. In fact, I’ve been here for longer than I planned already,” Derek goes to stand up and Scott looks utterly  _devastated_  from where he’s kneeling on the floor between Allison’s feet.

“Derek! You can’t  _leave_. It’s my birthday! Do you have other plans?”

“Yeah,  _Derek_ ,” Stiles says steely. “Heading home to the dark place to sit in the corner and have your own party?”

For a long moment, Derek stares at him, Stiles grins cheekily back and Derek sighs. "Fine," Slowly, he sits back down. “I’m still not playing.”

“We’ll see,” Lydia says darkly. “Stiles?”

“No offence you guys, you’re all beautiful but no way. We’re all way too touchy feely as it is.”

“Funny,” Erica says, spinning the bottle idly and then nudging the table so it rolls towards them. “Because look, the two that aren’t playing are up. What a coincidence.”

“ _How did that happen?_ ” Lydia adds in a voice filled with faux wonder. 

Stiles stares at them both, unimpressed. She and Erica are about as obvious as Derek's eyebrows. “I’m not playing.”

The entire pack turns to stare at them expectantly and Stiles starts shaking his head. “No, I’m serious, the first time I kiss someone isn’t going to be with an audience and it’s certainly not gonna be under the pretence of a stupid  _game_!”

“ _Stiles_ —” Erica begins.

“I’m not—” Derek grabs the back of his jacket suddenly and drags him from the room without a backwards glance. “Hey, wait, dude!”

“You can thank me later, sweetie!” Lydia calls from the living room.

Stiles doubts it very much if he  _dies_  because of this.

Is he going to die?

Has Derek finally snapped and the only thing they'll find of Stiles later will be his shirt? He hopes he doesn't get blood on it. It's his favourite shirt. He would want Scott to wear it sometimes and think of him.

The stairs pass beneath his feet without him touching them and then they’re in his room and Derek’s slamming him back against the door. “What the hell?! Did you all regress two years tonight? Because  _de ja vu_.”

“Now we don’t have an audience,” Derek states.

Stiles stares at him, wide eyed. “What.”

“There’s no one watching, you don’t want anyone watching? No one’s watching. You said you weren’t kissing anyone with an audience, you didn’t say you didn’t want to kiss  _me_.”

“Yeah but—oh, no, Derek.” He tries to squirm out of Derek’s grip but Derek’s hands tighten where they’re twisted in his tee shirt and Stiles shuts his eyes, mortified. “It’s just a stupid game, Derek. I wasn’t even—we don’t have to do it.”

“Yes we do.”

“No we  _don’t!_ ”

“Stiles,” Derek huffs, clutches his hands briefly in Stiles’ tee shirt and then flattens his palms out against his chest, one pressing gently against his heart and oh, fuck, Stiles has sort of been maybe missing a few things here. Derek's looking at him with some sort of wild fervour and Stiles can't  _breathe_.

“Derek,” he croaks out. “I’m not, I’m just— I don’t want some stupid seven minutes in heaven with you. I’m not  _playing_.”

“Neither am I,” Derek says and his voice is softer than Stiles has ever heard; breath loud in the room, brushing across Stiles’ face and his eyes are serious, intense when they meet his.

Tentatively, Stiles reaches out a hand, tugs at Derek’s jacket until they’re flush together. “You’re not fucking with me?”

Derek pulls at Stiles’ other hand, pushes two of his fingers against the pulse in his neck. “You tell me.”

Stiles stares at where his hand is pressed against the steady beat of Derek’s pulse, touching his  _skin_. “I don’t know,” he licks his lips, catches Derek track the movement. “You’re not talking so I can’t uh, I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

Slowly, Derek leans forward until their noses bump, tilts his head to the side and noses at his cheek. “Stiles.”

“Uh, ahuh, yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now, and it’s not because of some stupid game, ok?”

“I, I don’t know whether that was a lie or not, your pulse is racing.”

Derek sighs. “Duh.” And then cups Stiles’ chin and kisses him.

For a second, Stiles doesn’t know how to react. Then, when he realises Derek isn’t secretly trying to kill him and Erica isn’t bursting through the door yelling  _surprise!_  he surges forward, gets his hands in Derek’s hair and pulls, kissing Derek back for all he’s worth. Derek makes a stilted noise in the back of his throat, falls against him completely and then his hands are sliding from Stiles’ jaw to sweep up his back. Stiles sighs into his mouth, grinning a little bit and Derek pulls back, kisses his smile, his cheek, the arch of his eyebrow, hands still tracing circles underneath his shirt.

“What?”

“No, it’s just, you  _totally_  agree about my awesome hotness.  _You_  think I’m hot.”

Derek rolls his eyes, shaking his head, even as he’s pushing Stiles’ shirt off, fingers trailing along the hem of his tee shirt. “Yes, Stiles, congratulations, you drive me fucking crazy, are you happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Stiles rocks his hips up against Derek’s. “Can’t you fucking tell?”

Derek groans, leans forward to bite at his shoulder through the fabric of his tee shirt.

“Sometimes you’re difficult to read,” he mutters against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles tips his head to the side, gives Derek more room to work with as he starts sucking soft bruises into his skin. Bruises he’s going to have for days which could be difficult to explain but, well, fuck it, if the pack don’t know what they’re doing up here then—

No.

Everyone knows what they’re doing up here.

“Was that really your first kiss?” Derek asks suddenly, straightening up, hands gripping his hips.

Stiles shrugs, squeezes his eyes shut and then cracks one open to look at Derek hesitantly. “Technically?”

Derek’s brow furrows. “I don’t get the people at your high school.”

“Aw, Derek,” Stiles winds his arms around Derek’s neck, enjoys the way Derek’s hands immediately jump from his hips to smooth along his arms. “Did you just give me a strange sort of compliment via insult of other people?”

“No, I was just stating a fact. The people at your school are dumb.”

“ _You’re_  dumb, totally and completely dumb for not kissing me two years ago.”

Derek grins, tugs at his hands and spins them so that he’s walking Stiles backwards across the room. “I don’t think you’d have responded in quite the same way as you just did.”

Stiles drops down on to the bed, pulling Derek with him, curling his feet around Derek’s and tangling their legs. “Maybe not straight away.”

“Try a year.”

Stiles stills from where he’s been removing Derek’s jacket. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for a whole  _year_?”

Derek shrugs. “Something like that.”

“Well, then you’ve got a whole lot of making up for it to do,” Stiles yanks at Derek's tee shirt and pushes it over his head. “Get started.”

“So fucking bossy,” Derek complains but leans forward to kiss at the juncture where Stiles’ neck and shoulder meet, teasing the skin with his teeth until it feels raw.

Stiles feels like he’s on edge, hands scraping through Derek’s hair, sliding down his back to grab at his ass and pull him closer. Derek’s hips jerk and Stiles grinds up into it, dropping his head back against the pillows.

“Wow, my ceiling never looked so good,” he comments.

Derek laughs,  _laughs_  and Stiles grins again, his heart feeling like it’s gonna fucking burst at the sound.  He pulls Derek away from where he’s been kissing his chest and kisses him languorously, tongues sliding together easily. Like it’s something they were maybe meant to do.

One of Derek’s hands slips between them, cups at Stiles dick through his jeans and Stiles’ romantic thoughts are cut off as he groans, pushes into it.

“Yeah ok, let’s do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking yes, what, you wanna wait another year?”

“No.”

“Then take your pants off,” Stiles demands, kicking off his own jeans and reaching for Derek the second they’re both gloriously naked.

Stiles arches into the first touch of his dick against Derek’s, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do with his hands, doesn’t know if he should be making the noises he’s making or automatically widening his legs so Derek can fit between them.

Derek makes a pleased noise, though, so he takes it a win, concentrates on not coming purely because Derek is on top of him, covering his body with his own, all the beautiful heavy fricking hardness of it. Derek's breathing’s erratic, eyes fluttering shut as he rolls his hips down against Stiles’, runs his hands up Stiles' sides, kissing him relentlessly, before pulling away to kiss the moles on the side of his face.

Stiles moans. Can’t help it. Drags Derek back to kiss him because that's a thing they should always do now, and then pushes a hand blindly down between them and curls it cautiously around Derek’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah, oh wait,  _yes_ , let’s do that later.”

And Derek huffs a laugh, leans his forehead against Stiles’ as Stiles slowly slides his hand up and down. He’s sort of working on a whole lot of guesswork and muscle memory here. Having never jerked somebody else off before. But then, Derek knows that so Derek can shut up if he’s going to have issues with Stiles’ clumsy hand-jobs.

He doesn’t seem to though, he’s panting in Stiles’ ear, kissing at it, murmuring words of encouragement before he braces himself on one arm next to Stiles’ head and slips his own hand down to wrap around both of them.

Stiles is extremely proud of how long he lasts.

He feels he should be given an award.

Derek’s hand is rougher than his own, strong and sure as he twists it, speeds up the pace and Stiles bites at Derek’s jaw, mouths at his neck mindlessly.

“Fuck, shit me, fuck, Derek,  _fuck_ ,” he looks down between them, watches his own hand blur with Derek’s and then Derek’s kissing him again, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Stiles, come on.”

“I’m—yeah—oh.”

“Want to know what you look like when you come,” Derek mutters. “Waited, a really, fucking, long time, just—”

“Shit, don't say things like that, oh my  _god_ , Derek—” Stiles clamps his teeth down on Derek’s shoulder, feels the pleasure zinging up his spine, all around him, feels his toes curling and his brain totally wiping out as he comes all over Derek’s hand and his own. Derek lets go of him, tangles their hands together around his own dick and takes all of three seconds before he’s coming all over Stiles’ chest.

Stiles looks down at the sight of himself. “Oh, gross,” he says drowsily.

Derek hums and collapses on top of him, grazing his lips against Stiles’ neck before he rolls to the side and stares up at the ceiling.

“So, you think our seven minutes are up?”

Derek lets out a laugh, yanks on Stiles’ arm until Stiles is half on top of him. “You said we had time to make up for anyway.”

“So, totally logical for us to stay here. Go for round two in what,” Stiles reaches between them to palm at Derek’s dick and Derek shudders against him. “Five minutes?”

“If you’re still awake in five minutes, I’ll fuck you through the mattress.”

“Oh,  _deal_.”

Stiles stays awake.

Sex with Derek is incentive for anything, he decides.

He would totally serenade the shit out of Derek if he weren't too busy grabbing at the headboard and holding on for dear life.

*

When they head downstairs for water at five in the morning, Scott’s passed out on the couch wearing a party hat, Allison asleep with her hands still in his hair. Danny and Isaac are missing, go figure, Stiles thinks. And Lydia and Erica are at the kitchen table with Boyd asleep on the floor beside them.

“Oh, good,” Lydia smiles brightly when she seems them and Stiles freezes, leans back against Derek.

He wishes he’d put a shirt on, Erica’s staring at the array of hickies on his chest with total abandon. Derek scowls and steps in front of him.

“Why are you guys still up?”

“We made you something,” Erica holds up the banner from earlier.

_Happy ~~Birth~~ Sexday. YOU CAN THANK US NOW._

Stiles thinks it’ll look quite nice on the porch.

Derek does not agree.

But he does allow Stiles to paint the porch cream. And then he varnishes  it.

Stiles is all for sex outside; it’s nice, picturesque even, but he’s not one for splinters.


End file.
